


Expressions of Love

by whitewolfbumble



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Attraction, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Mild Blood, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutant Powers, Mutant Reader, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 20:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17773742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitewolfbumble/pseuds/whitewolfbumble
Summary: "You have the ability of physical attraction- more a curse than a power- that makes you a particular asset to the team. Distancing yourself for your own protection and knowing nothing of love yourself, you thought of yourself as somewhat of an expert of love when it came to the members of the team. All except Steve, who you were closest with and for some reason couldn’t keep away from."Or, you're an Enhanced!Reader learning to trust Protective!Steve Rogers, both physically and emotionally, and understand what it means to be loved.[Prompt: “I keep drawing you in my sketchbook because I’ve always found you to be beautiful and I’m longing to tell you how I feel, but one day you find it and you have questions”]





	Expressions of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hey darlings, please be aware this deals with the Reader having the power to attract people to herself (sometimes without the ability to control it), meaning in this people get unwantedly handsy and gropey, once in a large crowd and once between you and two other people. There is mild recurring trauma from it throughout. Please don’t read if that bothers/triggers you! If you read this and think there are more appropriate tags to add to this, please let me know!

“We could use a distraction here,” Nat said lowly in the comm, crouched behind the safety of a large tree some distance away, blasts and gunshots ringing through the air. “This isn’t a cell group at all.”

“It’s a small army out here,” Bucky said, finishing her thought with the ratatat of his machine gun pinging off.

You were already off the quinjet at that point, boots softly crunching down on the thin and hard layer of snow that covered the forest. Without the sun for warmth on this blue-grey morning it wasn’t all too bad out, leaving you in a long-sleeved shirt, trimmed vest, and fingerless gloves that had you blending into the scenery. The elements weren’t what you needed to be hidden away from anyway, but a group of high-tech extremists whose base was a few hundred metres ahead.

The team was already engaging them, the fight starting off easy and as planned, but was fast devolving into something far more precarious and bloody.

“I’m making my way over, just tell me when,” you said.

“Y/N,” Steve responded. “We’ll manage here on our own, I don’t w-”

A yelp rang through the air, jarring and pained. The sound stopped you in your tracks, footsteps faltering. It lasted only a moment.

“Clint’s hit!” Nat said.

If the first sound caused you stop still, that one made you sprint into action, the crunch of footfalls hitting the ground hard as you took off sprinting. The deep of the woods did nothing to impede you, weaving through statuesque trees and bare brambles to get to your companions in the fray.

“It’s bad,” she continued after a moment, voice tight in her throat between your heavy puffs of air as you ran. “We need to get him out of here now.”

You soon saw the team up ahead, their figures muted through the hazy cold of the morning and coming in flashes of colour. Black for Nat and purple for Clint, huddled together and struggling to stand. Black and silver for Bucky, providing cover for the pair as his gun didn’t stop firing and determination didn’t falter a second. The deep blue of Steve, shield whipping out and back to his hand faster than you could track. A flash the red and gold for Tony, flying through the tops of the trees while dodging fiery blasts. Another shot of red was Thor, barreling on top of tanks and throwing down Mjolnir to crumble the metal below his feet.

But the dark green-clad figures of the enemy were everywhere and for every one the Avengers took down, it was like two more rose in their place. Often times on missions you were outmanned- that wasn’t anything new- but this was brutally so, and clearly here you were vastly out-gunned too.

“There aren’t too many, it’ll be fine,” you said between clenched teeth, looking out to the scene in front of you and trying not to let the gritty apprehension you felt settle into your bones. “Call it, Captain. I’ll be ready.”

You saw Steve fighting straight ahead, throwing punches as Tony whipped by him, momentarily clearing the way for him to speak.

“Alright, but we’ll be right here,” he assured, a concerned edge to his voice as there always was when you did this. He turned from his position if only briefly to try and spot you through the trees. For a second his eyes held yours. “We’ve got you, Y/N.”

You nodded as he turned back to the fight, somewhat encouraged by his words even if your hands were shaking just slightly. You sidestepped out from being half-hidden behind a tree trunk and into the small clearing in front of you.

You took several deep slow breaths, purposefully exhaling out your power into the space around you. It filled this morning winter scene, seeking out the enemies the Avengers were fighting against. In your mind you focused on the green-clad men, just focusing and breathing and letting your power trickle free, coming loose from some hidden place inside you.

“Look out team,” you said in warning, voice suddenly calm and smooth, matching the expression on your face as you kept your eyes closed.

Your hands weren’t shaking any more as one raised in front of you, holding it out as though reaching for something.

The gunshots suddenly stopping short was the first sign, and the second was the crunching of snow as innumerable footsteps began to move closer to you, slow and steady.

Cracking open your eyes as you felt a firm and steady handle on the power seeping from you, you saw them coming closer, emerging from the forest like the living dead. Their eyes were transfixed on you singularly and their hearts beat under their chest a mile a minute, a chorus flooding the forest with the sound of drums.

You were “calling” them to you in a sense and it set off a longing for you so deep in their souls and bodies that they lost sight of the fight, each other, and themselves in the process. The only thing they wanted in that moment was _you_ and you alone. It was something primal and all-consuming.

And that was your ability; to have people desire you so deeply it consumed and clouded them from everything but you.

Nat and Clint, with the help of Vision, were well on their way to the quinjet and part of you hummed with ease at that. With the mob of people slowly making their way to you, the rest of the team worked to incapacitate them as fast as they could. Through training and focus your teammates could fight your abilities somewhat- and you did you best not to target them- but it was an unspoken struggle on both sides.

Still, the mass of dark-clad and faceless people kept coming in droves, despite how many the team were getting too. God, you should have started this farther back, you didn’t realize their numbers as they practically emerged from the woodwork to surround you.

You felt a hand grip your shoulder, wretching you back and trying to take hold of you. Without breaking concentration you took hold of their hand, ripping it off of you and half-turning your body to snap their wrist bone, sending the assailant to their knees. With a kick to the head they were out like a light and you were back to the matter at hand.

The facts were that you didn’t have super strength, you weren’t a super spy with super skills, and if you snapped the mob out of this before they got to you, there was no guarantee all of them _would_ actually stop their insatiable want for you. You were trusting the team to incapacitate them in time, and they were trusting you to hold out long enough for them to do so.

Sometimes the longer you held people under your sway the more crazed they got, and sometimes the longer you held them the harder it was to keep it up. It just depended on the individual, and in a mob like this, you had to use a significant amount of your power to keep everyone under the same level of influence. Meaning you were now piling on the power to those who were already crazed enough.

Another hand, this time on your hip, gripped you. Before you could so much as move you saw someone appear from the side and grab you across your waist. Another wrapped their arms around you from behind, trying to rip you away from the other two.

_Shit!_

“Let go Y/N!” shouted someone, but frantically above the encroaching mob like a sea of dark green in front of you, you couldn’t tell who.

You swung out elbows and used just about every maneuver Clint, Nat, Bucky, and Steve had collectively taught you, but it was too much. Too many hands now began to cover your body, scratching at you and pulling your skin and your clothes and your hair. Your vest was torn in two, one boot ripped off, and you felt the heat of blood cooling fast all over as your skin was torn open under fingernails.

You pulled back your power like a rubber band, hoping that whoever of the mob was left would still be dazed enough for the team to take them down before they could start firing again.

In a rush you were pulled down to the ground with countless people falling on top of you, crushing and stealing the air from your lungs in a bone-rattling thud. You couldn’t breathe- could barely move- as people consumed and overwhelmed every sense you had.

As you felt yourself drowning in skin and pressure that made you want to scream, a sudden hit of cold air entered your lungs. It was the sweetest you had ever tasted, bodies being thrown off of you and the shining glimmer from a shield, a hammer, and a metal suit flashing somewhere through the crushing mob.

A deep navy-clad arm reached down by way of life raft and you scrambled to grip it through the horde covering you. The arm roughly pulled you up and out of the clutches of the mob, and you launched yourself towards the body it was attached too. You gripped the frame of Steve as he held you tightly, holding you firm to his body and sprinting from the mob as though you weighed nothing.

You were jostled hard for a few moments before you were carefully set down against a tree. Eyes closed, you breathed deep, shaking breathes of the cold, clear air. As you did, you felt the feather-light touches of his hands searching across the tattered, barely held together garments that hung from you. It was blissfully so unlike the hard, demanding gropes of countless hands that were just trying to tear you apart.

You wanted to commit that feeling to memory forever, to hold that feeling close to you in the dead of night when you woke up terrified from nightmares and gasping for freedom. You wanted those light, caring, deft fingertips and broad, warm, caressing hands on you always, to shake away every other horrible feeling of unwanted flesh groping yours.

Only after a moment of his studying your frame for serious injury did you open your eyes, looking up to the super soldier. His light blue eyes were a picture of concern, brimming with emotions rippling through his eyes too fast for you to decipher in your spent state. You felt the ghost of his fingers cradle your jaw, the other settling lightly on your hip to steady you.

“Tell me that helped,” you murmured shakily, grabbing onto his arm as though grounding yourself to the safe presence that was your dear friend. “Or at least lie to me if it wasn’t?”

“It helped,” he said, his light blue eyes shining again as though sunlight glinting off the ocean. Now you were aware enough to see a calm and relief spread through his muscles as you spoke and joked, signaling to him you were fine. “I don’t need to lie about that.”

You gripped him tighter, trying to move to get up, screwing your eyes shut against the sharp flashes and throbbing pulses of pain that moved through you.

“No, you’re done here,” he said, words firm and kind, keeping you from moving. When he spoke next it was into the comm. “Y/N’s okay, I’m getting her back to the jet. Let’s get this wrapped up.”

When he picked you up it was both fast and hesitant, and you couldn’t understand why, but then again, you never could. It was always Steve to get you, who pulled you from danger long before your stupidly self-sacrificing nature would allow. Always Steve who gently set you down and created a wall of protection with his own body. Always Steve who lightly touched you, checking for injury with those caressing fingers and under those caring eyes. Always Steve who picked you up and carried you back to the safety of the quinjet or a safehouse or home base.

It was _always_ him, and you knew somewhere deep that it would _only_ be him. Though it remained some unspoken, unacknowledged secret, neither of you would allow anyone else to.

So when he held you to his body, you found your favourite spot against him, head pressed gently into the crook of his neck, pain be damned, and focused on what could anchor you to him in this moment. His scent of sweat and adrenalin and clean soap filled your nose. The only thing you could see was him. The only feeling you focused on was his muscles under you and the cage of his arms, firm but gentle, hesitant but confident.

“I’m alright,” you whispered into his skin. Maybe to steady him, maybe to steady yourself. You didn’t know. “I’m okay… I’m okay.”

The words were punctuated with watery tears building, seeping from your eyes and down his neck. They formed and spilled as you felt this episode added to the black swirl of nightmares ever-churning at the back of your mind. You swallowed, trying to force down the whole thing from your mind but it didn’t work. It never did.

A venom and bitterness sprung up in your mouth as you pushed yourself closer to him, a loathing spreading through as it always did after using your ability.

You hated it. Hated using it. Manipulating people to “love” you and want you? It was sick and twisted and deplorable and you _hated_ it. Far beyond just the injuries it caused you.

But the rational part of your mind reasoned, as it always did, that you saved your team members. It was a mantra that was getting old. They could have called in Bruce or you could have insisted they did, but the casualties would have been so much higher.

So you held on to Steve and he held you together.

* * *

 

A week later after the mission was done, the enemy rounded up and shipped to the Raft courtesy of Ross, things had eased back into the usual running of things, as it always did.

Through the afternoon, as was customary, the rest of the team had been getting ready and heading out for their respective Friday night plans. Even Clint was well enough now to head back home for some deserved rest and relaxation.

It left you and Steve at the kitchen island, him reading the newspaper and you sipping a cup of calming tea, while Bucky and Nat were grabbing a bottle of water post-training and pre-date night. The airy space seemed all the brighter and energetic with those two here.

“C’mon, Y/N,” called out Bucky to you, though his eyes remained on Natasha, a small mischievous smile on his face as she finished the water bottle. “I think it’s time you snapped me out of this already.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at the brunette super soldier, not seeming overly bothered as you turned back down to your tea warming your hands.

“I told you Buck,” you said, taking a sip as you watched the flirting couple, a sad tinge of envy nagging at you. “This is definitely _not_ me.”

“Oh? So, you taught Nat your ways, did you?” he teased, following closely behind the redhead as she walked out of the kitchen, hand on her hip and satisfied curve on his lips.

She could lead him to the end of the world and he’d probably follow. You had yet to see the love they had for each other reach a limit yet.

Expressions of love across the team were as varied as the members themselves you had found since joining them.

It was impossible not to see Bucky’s smirk of adoration when he sat back and watched Nat train or kick ass or even just walked by him. She was more apt for soft teases in close quarters (which he was picking up on now too, apparently) or colding demolishing anyone on the battlefield that so much as _looked_ at Bucky in a way she didn’t like. He loved sitting back and watching her be her, while her attitude was one of “I can toy with him but don’t you even think about it”.

Tony was devoted eternally and completely to Pepper. Sometimes his gestures for her sparked teasing discussions about what terrible or inconsiderate thing he had done this time. But guilt was never his motivation with her. His constant striving to do right by her filled his mind and thoughts constantly. He was astounded by her, talking a mile a minute to hide the fact that a hundred of his words would only equal one word spoken from her lips. She, on the other hand, was generally the level-headed, cooling, and calming presence to his genius, scattered life. She brought balance to him: joy when he was upset, calm when he was anxious, and a fiery spirit of challenge when he needed a kick in the pants.

Bruce had Betty, though that was hardly a _traditional_ relationship. Distance was how he showed his love for her, refusing to allow himself even the possibility of hurting her. So not exactly a touchy-feeling situation, for obvious reasons. You hadn’t actually met her yet, only seeing pictures and hearing Bruce’s soft words of praise. A particular demure smile would follow whenever he mentioned her, usually followed by a fond-feeling silence.

Sam had a few relationships in your time here, with his smile wider, jokes lighter, and praises readily given to those around him when he found someone new that caught his eye. It was very easy to tell with him when were was someone new in his life, with joy positively beaming from him the moment he walked into a room.

Clint would talk of his acts of service when he returned back to the compound after seeing his family. How he put new flooring in the dining room because Laura’s sock got caught on a loose floorboard and almost made her trip with the newest family addition in her arms. Or that he took out a linen closet to add another walk-in closet for her, because the thought of asking her to purge some of her clothes didn’t even enter his mind. Anything she needed, he readily gave without her needing to ask.

Vision talked a _lot_ to Wanda. He was constantly trying to find the right words to put a smile on her face or hear that twinkling laugh from her. While Wanda herself was more patient with him than anyone else, a happy gleam in her eyes and wry smile on her lips as Vision talked on (and on… and on…).

Now Steve? Well, you had yet to really pinpoint his defining characteristic yet. You could say he was gentlemanly, fair, considerate, fought endlessly for those he loved. But romantic love? You had yet to really see him in love or even in moderate _like_ yet. Even with Natasha and the others offering up possible options for company on a Friday night, similar as they did with you. And like you, he always declined.

It sat like a stone brick in your stomach, thinking of the day when he would give in and say yes. To know someone else would get those light touches or breathe him in or spend your Friday night together as you had been, eating and talking and watching movies together.

But you had made it another week with him politely declining the offer for a blind date. Thank goodness. So once Nat and Bucky were out of the kitchen and the coast was clear, you hopped off your stool, walking around to roll up your sleeves and washed your hands.

“What’re we feeling tonight?” you asked, happily settling into the quiet of the evening and your usual Friday night routine with the only other single member of the team.

“Last week was fajitas?” Steve asked, setting down the paper mirroring your movements, sliding up beside you and washing his hands at the same time.

As usual, you felt the brush of his hip against yours. You smiled to yourself, happier than you had been in a week that he was still here with you and not off on some date with some woman.

“Yeah, I think we have chicken left in the freezer? I can quick thaw that and maybe we have something to make a casserole?”

Steve turned to the cupboard while you turned to the freezer, the two of you moving like a well-oiled machine. You pulled the chicken out of the freezer, popping it in the microwave while Steve rummaged through the cans and dry goods. You could picture the look slight concentration on his face and the bright blue of his eyes.

“Hmm, cream of broccoli?” he asked, throwing a can lightly over his shoulder.

You smiled, holding back a laugh as you caught it deftly, while the other one that immediately followed wasn’t so graceful.

“You’re getting good at that,” he noted, glancing your way with that winning grin of his as he pulled out a can opener.

“Well, this is what, the twenty-sixth Friday in a row?” Steve saddled up to you again, arm brushing against yours as he started cracking open those cans. Maybe you shouldn’t feel so contented by the feel of him so close, but he was about the only one you’d let touch you outside of hand-to-hand combat training…. And even then, that was still mostly only Steve, actually. “I should be the _best_ at this point.”

“Rice is on the counter,” he said, nodding back behind him with his grin only increasing.

“And I heave a big sigh of relief you didn’t throw _that_ ,” you remarked cheekily, bumping your shoulder on his arm as you went to put on the rice.

You could almost sense the eye roll and feel the warmth of his smile.

“I’ll never be able to apologize enough for that one, huh.”

“Considering that was the fourth Friday? Probably not.”

And so it continued as it always did, with easy grins, light brushes of skin on skin, friendly chatter with your… well, you were sure what to call Steve, really.

“Teammate” was too distant a word. He might be your friend, but he probably wasn’t your _best_ friend, since he had Bucky. Can you be best friends with someone if they weren’t best friends with you? You’d ask yourself this before, with still no real definitive answer.

Relationships weren’t exactly your forté, considering you had to distance yourself from anyone and everyone, and certainly all those from your past. When your power was developing, it had been out of necessity. You weren’t in control of powers when it first started developing when you were a young teenager. Suddenly having to fight or flee became your life as the people around you were drawn to you beyond their control or yours.

It had been a dark time in your life. You had forced yourself to run away, to be alone, to not risk getting close to anyone. Even after you did have more control over your abilities, there was a distance you kept from those around you. Because what if you slipped up and you couldn’t get away?

But light came back to your life once you found the Avengers. And things got every brighter when you got closer to Steve. When you found yourself able to touch another person again without fear. When you trusted him to not only be able to protect himself from you but protect you from others. When you found yourself able to have him touch you. When you started living for those brief moments.

So while learning everything you could about Sam’s new girl (an old friend from the military days) both of you were too wrapped up in conversation to notice his arm up against yours on the island counter. That little bit of warmth from his skin and the cooling calm of those blue eyes filled you with ease and relaxed each and every muscle down to your toes.

You both were also too wrapped up in each other that you didn’t remember the casserole until it was far, _far_ too late.

Your face quirked, eyebrows pulled together and chin lifted up a bit. You looked around the kitchen, sensing something off but not quite able to pinpoint what. Steve lightly took your hand, eyes searching yours for a moment.

“Is something... burning?” you asked, turning back to him.

Realization hit you both at once, Steve rolling his eyes at his lack of awareness and you both shot off your stools at the same time, sprinting around the island towards the oven.

The moment Steve opened up the oven a plume of smoke billowed out and took over the whole kitchen, the grey swirls pooling in a massive cloud at the ceiling. Both of you were reduced to coughs and sputters, him looking a bit amused and you looking rather abysmal. You were _starving_ at this point, your stomach growling at the exact moment Steve reached in and gingerly pulled out the almost comically blackened casserole.

Not a moment later, the fire alarm started beeping at its most intrusive, ear-shattering pitch.

Both of you took to fanning the room with tea towels, still sputtering in the grey haze though this was a bit of a lost cause and you both knew it.

“It’s like the fourth Friday all over again,” he said loudly over the alarm.

“I’m surprised after the disaster of that night we still kept _doing_ this,” you pointed out, earning a smirk from him. “Alright Captain, call it.”

His smile stayed, looking rather silly with his large muscled body fanning the air with a tiny tea towel to just about no avail.

“Team decision,” he said as his eyebrows pulled together with the same mock seriousness as you, though he couldn’t manage to dash the smile from his face. “Pizza or Thai?”

“Pizza,” you nodded firmly though your eyes began to burn a bit. “You stay and clean, and I’ll pick it up?”

“Affirmative,” he agreed, coughing as he waved smoke in front of his face. You grabbed your sweater slung on the back of the stool and dashed out, smiling as you left the poor thing to this disaster.

* * *

 

You announced yourself by way of a slamming door and hard footsteps booming through the compound. Steve knew something was wrong before you even walked in, hearing how angry and upset you were before you entered the cleaned and much less smoky kitchen.

You blew into the white open space, your eyes red and watery and mouth set into a hard, angry line.

“What is it?” he asked before catching a good look at you. Once he did see the state you were in his tone turned into the same one he had on missions: firmer and deeper. “Y/N, what happened? Are you alright?”

You were already bee-lining right for him but he was too quick and met you halfway, coming right up to you with concern flashing hard and deep in his eyes. He grabbed the pizza boxes from your hands and set them blindly down on the kitchen island behind him, eyes flitting between yours.

“Some assholes at the pizza place,” you commented, running your hand through your hair, anxiety still rocking through you. “Some upstate frat boys here for the weekend, thinking _they’re_ the irresistible ones and I’m some dumb piece of ass that _likes_ being threatened and grabbed.”

“What did they do?” It was less a question and more a threat of action from the soldier. His bright blue eyes became dark and stormy instantly and you saw his fists clench and unclench beside him.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat (unsuccessfully) and before you leaned into the man in front of you, seeking out your favourite spot between his shoulder and neck, you moved away. You passed the brick house of a man, heading for the fridge and one of Clint’s beers. You grabbed two, both for you.

“It’s fine Steve,” you said, still upset and eyes still a puffy, watery mess. “I’m alright.”

You took a swig of the beer, feeling that warm presence walking up behind you. You turned, leaning back against the edge of the counter and tried to keep those burning tears from spilling over.

“I’m okay,” you said once you put down the beer on the counter. It didn’t sound all too convincing though, and you looked up to Steve, wondering if for one he believed it.

You had to admit that look in his eyes, though intense, was familiar and comforting. You were close enough to breathe in that clean smell of his. Feel the pleasant heat radiating off of him. Compounded with your racing heart and longing to feel him and the security he gave, you gave in.

Sighing, you held your elbows and leaned forward, resting your forehead against Steve’s chest.

“I’m okay.”

You felt his hands come up your back, hovering above the thin fabric of your shirt before connecting, holding you lightly, then closely. He wrapped his arms around you, so familiar and comforting. The both of you moved together, body pressing together out of habit and clicking together like puzzle pieces. You felt his fingers thread lightly through the ends of your hair, his other hand splayed out warmly, helping to ease the light shivering he felt moving through your spine.

When he spoke it was soft, leaning down to your ear, that soothing protective tone washing through you.

“Y/N,” he said, low and smooth. “You left with a sweater on… Where is it?”

You screwed your eyes shut tighter, moving up to that spot between his shoulder and neck, breathing him in deeply.

“Those guys… It wasn’t even that bad,” you said, though it wasn’t too convincing and it wasn’t even the point. The act itself was shocking and unwelcome, but it was the trauma it brought up was the worst of it. It always was. “They just- well, one of them grabbed my arm. He wouldn’t let go and the other just wouldn’t back off. He practically pinned me against the counter…  so I just punched him. Hard. Then zipped off my sweater so the other guy would let go and got out of there.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a moment, and usually he wasn’t at a loss for words. He was always ready to give hard and motivating speech when things got rough, or kind word to ease things over, or some snappy, biting remark to the enemy.

“Steve?” you swallowed, a feeling of guilt mixing in with the other twisting in your chest.

When he didn’t respond you felt your shoulders slag, sadness hitting you.

“I know, I’m an Avenger,” you rambled quickly, trying to fill the silence since he wouldn’t. You didn’t even look up to see what those blue eyes would tell you. “I know I shouldn’t have just _punched_ the guy; I should have gotten out without going violent on him. But he wasn’t letting go and he was too close and you _know_ I can’t handle that from anyone but you and yes I know how to get out of a hold like that but I wasn’t thinking I was just hurting and I’m _sorry_ , alright?”

Your chest heaved against his, wrought with emotions and words tumbling too fast from our mouth to breathe.

“This isn’t your fault, Y/N,” Steve started, tone controlled but edged with something upset. Something hurting. You felt it. You knew that feeling. “I’m just angry. At them, that they touched you. I’m angry I wasn’t there to _do_ something about it. I should have been there.”

At that he looked down to you but you didn’t meet his gaze, just wrapped your arms around his neck, breathing him in again.

“It’s just pizza,” you said after a moment, the shivering having stopped and emotions settling little by little at his words. “And it’s not that big a deal, I’m just… Well, I’m just me. I should expect this.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, firm tone coming out again as his head rested against yours. “This wasn’t you overreacting and it wasn’t your fault, Y/N.”

“Okay, but only if you don’t blame yourself for it either.”

You looked up then, seeing a twist to his lips that wasn’t quite a smile but certainly _was_ confirmation of your assumption he’d somehow feel guilty over this. Although it wasn’t exactly accurate to say, still, leave it to Steve to feel upset over staying behind to clean up rather than getting pizza.

“No promises,” was his final verdict.

You closed your eyes, settling back into him. You probably should have backed away. You should have given him maybe what would have been a hollow but encouraging smile, something to show you were in fact okay. You would then make some remark about the pizza getting cold and grab some plates. The two of you would then sit at the kitchen, eating the cooled pizza and maybe eventually chatting. Maybe your arm would touch his again or your foot would move next to his or something. Neither of you would mention it, and that would be okay.

But you didn’t. You stayed, coiled up and wrapped up in him as you had done at the end of missions. But this time there had been no mission and there was no threat, no injury, no need for Steve to be the leader and take care of you like this. And yet there you were.

You wanted to say something to him, maybe to justify this connection or even try to make this last longer, but you couldn’t think of the words. Whatever Steve was thinking, maybe he couldn’t think of the words either.

He bent down a little, a noise of displeasure squeaking out of your throat without you meaning to, before his arm went to the top of your thighs, hoisting you up and carrying you in his arms. Your eyes went a bit wide but you certainly didn’t want to fight it or ask why and jinx it.

Steve paused a moment, handing you the opened beer bottle from the counter before you slowly took it from him. He then walked over to the edge of the counter and picked up pizza boxes with his free hand. He carried you in one arm and held your dinner in the other, as though neither weighed a thing. Admittedly, the pizza didn’t, but you were a different story.

Regardless you let the protest out of common decorum die in your throat as he walked you through the compound and to his room. You even reached out and opened the door as you got there.

Once the pair of your entered, you were greeted with the faintest smell that was Steve: sweat and soap and comfort. It was similar in style and configuration as most other bedrooms there were: a large bed on one wall with a door to the bathroom or closet on either side, and a couch, small table, and TV on the other half of the room. You had been Steve’s room a number of times- at least twenty-six times in fact- as was the second part to your usual Friday tradition.

Yes, Steve had a love for training and fitness and leading and strategizing. But the quieter side to him love the contemplation of certain activities like reading, or visiting museums, or listening to music. So along those lines the two of you began to watch films together on Fridays after dinner, picking one popular or critically acclaimed movie from each year since he went under the ice. It brought the modern world into view for him, caught him up perhaps on some things he missed, and you weren’t exactly a gym-buff yourself so this was a nice compromise for you too.

The two of you had just hit the seventies.

The pizza boxes hit the little coffee table with a satisfied thunk, but you were lowered to the couch a lot softer and certainly with more care. Steve sat with you, still holding on, though his grip loosened enough for you to lean back a little, showing him a soft smile.

There was a long moment where he didn’t move and neither did you. A thought was on the tip of Steve’s tongue, heavy and intent. But before he spoke his expression and tone shifted, coming lighter than you expected.

“Sam let me borrow tonight’s movie; want to eat and watch?” he said instead, giving you the feeling that it wasn’t what he had wanted to say.

“Sure,” you nodded, and it made you wondered if you have ever actually told him “no” before…

Steve got up with a smile, apparently choosing to put aside whatever it was on his mind and what had happened to you tonight. Of that last one you were thankful. You wanted him and pizza and a movie, the reality of everything else be damned.

“I thought Sam had given it to me,” he said, rummaging through the draw of the TV stand. “I thought I brought it back here…”

“Maybe he took it back?”

“Maybe,” he said, mulling it over but not convinced. “He gave it to me in the lounge. It might still be there, I’ll be right back.”

You watched him leave, debating as soon as he left whether to grab a slice of pizza. But your appetite wasn’t back yet really. Instead you brought your legs up to your chest, looking around the familiar room and waited.

Usually you would get into some comfy sweatpants post-dinner in your room, letting Steve clean up any unmentionables you doubted he actually left around his space. As you glanced around the room, that assumption seemed correct. Everything was tidy and neat, clearly the days in the army sticking with him as you had noted on occasion before.

After a minute you got up, spotting something on the nightstand that looked like a DVD case. It was tucked half under a large leather-bound book.

“I think I got it, Steve,” you shouted out, him probably not hearing you. You were about to call out again, but that leather book caught your eye. In all your time here, you couldn’t remember seeing it before.

Curiosity winning over any degree of boundaries, you put the DVD down and picked the book up.

You realized once you opened it that it was a sketchbook.

You flipped through wondering if this was something from his old days that Tony was able to dig up for him, but you noticed a drawing of the Avengers building, then the view of the lake from the compound. You were a bit surprised, considering how full this sketchbook seemed though never once had you spotted Steve sketching.

It was beautiful, Steve’s hands deft at bringing intricate details alive on the page. There were landscapes and architecture, all poised and full of life and realism, shadow and light. It was simply stunning.

But you frowned when you saw one of _you_.

It’s not that it wasn’t beautiful because it _was_ , wonderfully so, and certainly a more flattering light than you thought you deserved. But you didn’t think you were worth taking up a space in a book so masterfully done as this was.

Flipping through you saw another one, this time you were holding a cup of coffee and looking out the kitchen window- nothing particularly special about it to note in a sketchbook- but the look you had was serene and joyful.

The next page was you asleep on the couch from this room.

The next was you again, this time with your eyes coloured in. It was the only colour in the book so far, everything else in charcoal grey.

You flipped the page over, and there you were, the colour in your eyes again but this time a better match than the last one.

As you turned page after page, they were _all_ of you, the colour of your eyes the only colour on each page. The hues shifted slightly and changed as it went, but eventually you realized that he had been experimenting with it. Steve was clearly eventually able to find the exact right shade and intensity, and as you went through page after page after page, you saw that colour gleaming right off the page at you.

Steve had walked in so quietly you hadn’t realized, until a bit breathlessly you looked up, your eyes locked to his unreadable ones.

You held the book, not speaking for a moment as you looked at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you said, voice airy and shocked.

“The sketches they aren’t-” he began, not able to find the right words. “The sketches are just… I was just…”

“No, Steve,” you said quietly, knowing from the care and detail and sheer volume this wasn’t an exercise in practicing drawing a figure. These sketches spoke a thousand words and more. “Why didn’t you tell me about- about how you _felt_ about me?”

Silence filled the room, getting heavier as his skin on his cheeks tinged redder.

Steve wasn’t one to back down from a confrontation or fight, and though this was neither, he didn’t back down now. It took a moment, but his gaze was steady as was his voice.

“I know you, Y/N,” he started. “I didn’t want to push you to something you didn’t want, and I didn’t want to lose you because of it. I couldn’t- I won’t be able to handle that.”

“You can handle anything,” you whispered, swallowing as you tried to move from shock to something useful in forming a proper thought.

“Not that,” he stated.

The words rung through the room clear and honest, and it made your lungs fill and deplete in rapid succession.

“I’ve never…” you spoke, words not coming strong enough for you to hear, so you tried again. “I’ve never done this before? I mean, I don’t…”

You felt your voice falter again and a pain hit in your chest. You had no doubt Steve could see it on your face, stepping closer reflexively before making himself stop short of reaching you, landing halfway through the room. Again, you saw emotions rippling through him too fast for you to decipher.

“I’ve never known if anything was- was _real_ I guess,” you tried again. “How could I. And when I… the couple times I’ve told people about what I can do when I thought they genuinely... they’d think I was making this feel that way and… Well, it never went over well.”

“What I feel?” Steve started, leaning in with his head tilted just so to catch your eye. “That’s real, Y/N.”

He paused, again, letting those words sink into the space between you.

“This isn’t you manipulating me or making me feel this way,” he said before there was a tug at the corner of his mouth. “And I don’t have any real experience with this either.”

You nodded, crossing your arms in what you hoped was a casual way, trying to play this off while you were holding on the sketchbook with white knuckles. Because you weren’t convinced. You didn’t think there was a way you _could_ be.

“This isn’t just attraction,” he said softly, in that way of his you liked so much. “This is love, Y/N.”

That stilled you where you stood, the words holding you motionless. You didn’t respond but simply stood there. Slowly Steve walked forward, stopping when he was toe-to-toe with you. Carefully he took the book from your hand, casting it aside on the bed.

You waited as his hands reach out, hovering just above your arms. You waited for him to connect his skin to yours, soft and warm and perfect. You waited for him to press that feather-light touch into you that made you feel and want and need.

But it didn’t come.

Steve went as far as dared, hovering just above your skin, so close and yet not close enough. He pushed as far as he could, and this was his limit.

His eyes were down, caught up in a thought he didn’t share before he snapped back to you with a gentle look on his face.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he said, doing his best to convince you of words that were somehow false. He was a bad liar and you saw through it to the cutting pain underneath. “It’s okay that you don’t… That you don’t feel the same. I’ll be okay. I’m okay.”

Those were the words you tried to use to convince him that you were okay. But it was a lie each and every time. And just like you did now, Steve always saw through those words. He didn’t challenge them though. Not once. He never challenged you, actually. The others he had no qualms about laying down the law when it needed to be done, but you realized never with you.

He used actions with you. Slow and steady and soothing. He held you or protected you or removed you, taking you somewhere where you could be at peace, be tranquil, be alone with him. He never tried to use those words against you or make you believe otherwise. He let you be, and he asked wordlessly that you let him be with you too.

And if he used actions to combat those words, so you would too.

You felt your chest tighten and throat constrict, but you let it happen. You felt your mind pull up every bad experience, every horrible touch, every infliction of physical pain and you let it fall away. You stopped holding yourself back from this- from him- and put your hands on his chest.

You felt his eyes watch every movement with biting intensity, waiting and not hoping- doing _anything_ but hoping- as you slowly leaned in. You tilted your head up to him, not seeing those quick flashes of heat and feeling behind that beautiful blue. Your eyes were on his lips, closing as softly as your lips touched his.

It was the briefest of connection, a simple brush of your skin to his. But it made your heart jump and electricity fill your veins. It made his breath come rapid and warm across your mouth. It made him tense his muscles and close his eyes, savouring that feel of your kiss as though it would be the last.

You swallowed, hands at his chest, gripping his shirt between your fingers. You tried not to shake but you did. You tried not to let the yelling in your head say that this wasn’t real have a voice, but it did. All the same, you carefully closed the distance again, gently capturing his lips with yours.

The second kiss was different. It was a breath of fresh, clean air and an exhale of relief. It wasn’t a test or a question or a hesitant challenge. It was a choice. Something that was wanted and yearned for.

You felt that heat Steve radiated increase tenfold as his lips cautiously then longingly moved against yours. You felt him, hands touching your arms then gliding along your back, try to hold back from deepening the kiss. From letting the unspoken, untended love for the past months overtake you both and drown you in the affection you wanted, but weren’t ready for.

All the same, your hands moved up across his chest and wrapped around him, pulling through his hair as he did the same to you. You had a hold on him as much as he had on you, and it was as quiet and compassionate as his embraces have always been. How could you not have known? How could not have seen and felt his love for all this time?

As you released your lips from his, settling into that space between his shoulder and neck, you went through every moment you had shared. For the first time you saw clearly ever gesture and expression of soft adoration.

With him you were safe. With him you were yourself and he could be his. With him you were happy and whole and calm and alive. And now could see and feel that love expressed in every touch, every movement, every glance, every word, every action, every sketch.

The nightmares that lived at the back of your mind didn’t stop. The pain of your power didn’t fade. Your history and past were unaltered and undiminished.

But that didn’t compare to the truth of this moment. The truth being that with him you were wholly and truly  _loved_.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy early Valentines! This is my first Steve fic and idk guys, he's hard to write for. All I ask is that you please don't judge my ability to write based on this fic alone lol.


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